


Acquired Tastes

by merisunshine36



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugs, Humor, M/M, Monsters, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Esteem Issues, Shame, please enjoy, super super gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merisunshine36/pseuds/merisunshine36
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier bang in a pile of monster entrails.That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 453





	Acquired Tastes

**Author's Note:**

> I first watched this show and thought "wow, what a gross and gory universe" and then proceeded to be obsessed over what kind of nasty, nasty sex people might have. So...this is that story.
> 
> My sources for this fic were 95% the TV show, with the remaining 5% coming from youtube game playthroughs and the wiki for background details. Apologies if I got anything grossly inaccurate.
> 
> I'm on twitter @merisunshine36 if you'd like to join me in this debauchery.
> 
> CONTENT NOTE: There is canon-level monster butchery in this fic. It is super gross and not for the squeamish.

Geralt looked on as Jaskier gamely hacked away at the base of the forktail stinger he was trying to retrieve. It wasn't as clean a job as Geralt would've done, but it was good enough. He'd been offering to take on various odd jobs lately, and after an initial period of reluctance, Geralt decided to take him up on it. Things had been lean the last few weeks, and the faster they butchered a monster into saleable parts, the faster Geralt could be back on the road in pursuit of his next contract. And there were a fair number of people out here in the foothills of the Blue Mountains that would pay good money for a bit of forktail venom to tip their arrows with. 

Jaskier paused every few minutes to scowl at the blood his hands. He had stripped down to his undergarments in order to keep everything else clean. As he took on more of the dirty work, he'd taken to stocking up on increasing quantities of scented oils at every opportunity, slathering them over his hands at night. He often complained that the stink of dead monsters had worked its way into his skin, a smell so ingrained into life on the Path that Geralt didn't even notice it anymore. 

"Killing things, harvesting body parts - " Jaskier punctuated his speech with a few halfhearted thrusts of the knife Geralt had given him, " - none of this makes for a good ballad, you know. People like adventure, they like sex, but blood and guts - eh, not as popular." 

As always, Jaskier was content to ramble on without a response, so Geralt let him. He was only halfway listening, anyway. Most of Geralt's attention was on trying to decide whether he should skin the beast now for its hide, or sling it onto Roach's back and try to sell the whole thing. Ban Ard was only a day's walk from their current location; someone at the school might have a use for it. It was a good day for such a hike, too. The spring air was soft and warm, the skies clear overhead. He'd spotted a number of fat rabbits scatter into the underbrush as they'd made their way into the foothills. They'd make for fine eating, and the delicate new grass and tender flowers underfoot made a welcome place to lay one's head at night. On the other hand - a forktail wasn't exactly what you'd call an easy load to haul. 

"It's a shame all these monster parts are only used to make things for more killing," Jaskier said, settling his bloody trophy into one of Geralt's saddlebags. "I can eat a delicious rack of lamb, or wear a lambskin, but there's nothing good about the venom of a murderous beast. In fact, I feel qualified at this juncture to say that, on the whole, your life is really lacking in romance of any sort. Which is quite surprising given the number of desperate members of the nobility you encounter on a monthly basis. But! That is what I am here for -" he paused to make a suitably dramatic flourish,"to, shall we say, enhance the experience." 

Jaskier poured a bit of water from the waterskin and began a meticulous process of cleaning his hands which started with an initial rinse, followed by massaging the dried blood off with a mixture of sand and oil, scraping any remaining grime from beneath each fingernail with a piece of wood he'd sharpened exclusively for that purpose, and a final rinse. By the time he was done, the heavy, spicy scent of the oil would be so distracting that at times, it kept Geralt awake at night.

"Are you finished yet?" Geralt said dryly. 

"No one has any use for a bard who shows up at court with blood under his fingernails," Jaskier replied, nose wrinkled at the thought. 

"And no one has any use for a witcher who smells like a concubine," Geralt shot back. He was a witcher, and had a job to do. That job did not include making himself look pretty for those who were easily offended.

He made deliberate eye contact with Jaskier, refusing to drop his gaze as he neatly split the forktail's stomach open on the edge of his dagger. The entrails spilled out over the toes of his boots with a wet _plop_. He was searching for the liver, which could be dried and ground for use in all manner of potions. Once he'd cleanly sliced away the blood vessels feeding the organ and set it aside, Geralt sucked the greenish-blue blood from his fingers. It was a taste he'd grown fond of over a particularly difficult year. He'd eaten anything on hand just to survive, then. Fresh forktail blood was mildly earthy with a sour bite at the finish, and it made for a rich, hearty broth when boiled with a bit of lard and water. It offered a mildly intoxicating effect as well, although only for a few minutes. There had been a brief craze for forktail blood a decade ago in Lyria, until the king's mother died after drinking a bad batch. Retribution had been swift, and the beasts themselves had learned to flee at the sight of a Lyrian standard fluttering in the breeze.

After a few moments it occurred to him that Jaskier had been oddly silent. 

"Geralt, did you just… _consume the blood_ of that creature?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. The blood of this one seemed particularly potent, as he already felt himself flushing hot and cold all over."Not half bad. Plenty to go around." 

Jaskier hesitated, then dropped down beside him in the grass. A wrinkle of concentration appeared between his brows, the same one he wore whenever he was lost in his songwriting. "I admit I'm curious but - will it kill me? I am, after all, as you repeatedly remind me, a mere mortal."

"Do you not trust me?" Geralt asked, indulging in a rare moment of teasing. He sunk a hand back into the still-steaming heap of flesh, then pulled it out again, covered in hot, fragrant blood. He uncurled his palm so that his fingers were a hair's-breadth from Jaskier's face. An offering. 

Jaskier took a steady inhale before squeezing his eyes shut and taking the plunge, pink tongue darting out to trace a cautious trail across the roughened skin of Geralt's palm. He made a pleasantly surprised noise when he realized it wasn't as terrible as he'd been imagining, and took a second swipe, this time watching Geralt from beneath long lashes. 

Geralt's heart crawled into his throat - he could recognize when he was being propositioned. This wouldn't be the first time the two of them had found relief in the simple comfort of each other's bodies. But before now it had always been perfunctory, almost business-like. A bit of spit and a hand that wasn't your own once the sun had gone down and there was no one to see.

But many times, Geralt knew, the only way to root out a monster was to follow it into its den. "Go on," he said, "- there's more." He cradled Jaskier's chin gently between his fingers, and used his thumb to spread the viscous fluid over his soft, pink mouth.

Jaskier's tongue traced a hot, wet line from the tip of Geralt's thumb down to his wrist, which was lumpy and knotted from an injury that happened so long ago he couldn't put a name to it. A brief thrill of pleasure uncurled in the pit of Geralt's stomach when Jaskier didn't stop. He kept at it until Geralt's hand was as neat and clean as if he'd just stepped out of one of those fabled Nilfgaardian bathhouses.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Geralt's breathing rang loud in his ears. Jaskier might be a nuisance, but he was Geralt's nuisance. And for whatever reason he'd decided to spend his time keeping a cranky witcher company during the long, lonely months that made up life on the Path, never straying, even when they'd spent more nights than not with no shelter other than an oilcloth against the freezing rain. He was as trustworthy a companion as Geralt could ever hope for.

Geralt gently brushed his fingers over the green smears that now decorated Jaskier's chin and cheeks. Jaskier gave a quiet exhalation of amusement. "It's all over my face, isn't it," he said.

"It's a good look on you. Like a proper witcher, for once." 

Jaskier licked at his lips, chasing whatever was left on his skin. His expression was soft, his eyes glassy - this stuff obviously hit humans harder than Geralt had remembered. 

"What if I were _covered_ in it?" whispered Jaskier, as if he were sharing a secret. 

Geralt inhaled sharply. There was nothing he'd like more than for Jaskier to get truly messy for once. To see the silk and fine cotton that demanded hours of upkeep so soaked with filth that the scent would become a part of him beyond anything that soap and water could remove. But Geralt wasn't the kind of petty man who would destroy the few things Jaskier held dear for his own pleasure. Instead, with fingers that still smelled of Jaskier's spit, he carefully untied the laces at the neck of his companion's rough homespun undershirt. Geralt pressed his face to the skin behind the bard's ear, breathing in the scent of arousal that was coming off hm in waves. Jaskier's breath quickened, and he fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers until Geralt batted his hands away and efficiently stripped them from his body. Geralt disposed of his own clothing in record time, kicking everything carelessly to one side. 

He stopped to study Jaskier's body, much like the way he would study a beast from afar. Long miles spent on the road had stripped him of some of his softness, leaving lean calves and strong forearms behind. There were a few scars scattered across his skin, likely from one childhood brush with the pox or another, but he was, for the most part, smooth and unblemished. Geralt put a hand on Jaskier's thigh and started walking it slowly upward in the direction of his cock, which was already flushed with blood and standing at attention. He was met with a surprise, however, when Jaskier surged forward to press his mouth to Geralt's own. Geralt jerked backward like he'd been stung. 

"What are you doing?"

Jaskier blinked in surprise. "Ah...pressing my lips passionately to yours, as a prelude to further carnal delights to be enjoyed by all?" 

Geralt growled, unsettled. The whole of Geralt's sexual experience with Jaskier was wrapped up in immediate physical relief - blink and you miss it fumbling to take the edge off of a long day. It was more like the antics he'd gotten up to as a stripling at Kaer Morhen then anything else. The thought that this could be more than that wasn't anything he'd considered before.

Jaskier struggled to maintain a carefully neutral expression while Geralt turned the question over and over in his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that Jaskier was trying not to laugh. As well he should - this wasn't politics, it was just a fuck. But still, Geralt felt something deep within telling him that he was about to enter a land from which there was no return.

"Fine," he ground out. If this didn't work out, he could always slip away the next time Jaskier was asleep, leaving Roach as the sole witness to his shame.

Jaskier kept his kisses short and light at first, breaking off every now and then to suckle at Geralt's neck and ears, or run a hand over his shoulders. Given all the tales Jaskier shared about the number of people he had lured to bed on the strength of his kisses alone, Geralt knew he was being treated like some startled fawn. He shuddered, unaccustomed to such tenderness. This was something he could get used to. Pushing the last of his hesitation aside, he wound a hand around the back of Jaskier's neck so that he could better enjoy the wet heat of his mouth. Jaskier responded in kind, thrusting helplessly against Geralt's thigh.

As much as he was enjoying the soft sensation of Jaskier's lips against his, Geralt was hungry for the rest of him. He cast about for something soft to lie on, then decided to hell with it all. Gathering both of Jaskier's wrists in one hand, he gently pressed down on the bard's shoulders until his chest and face came to rest in the oozing pile of innards, pink arse tilted high into the air. He was mindful to keep Jaskier's head turned so that he could breathe. 

Geralt's heart was jackrabbiting in his chest. He hesitated. This was the kind of weird shit he usually only got up to with other witchers, and even then there was some amount of fisstech involved for plausible deniability when morning came. He waited, frozen, expecting Jaskier to panic and try to flee. The silence stretched on for what seemed like forever, and Geralt began to fear that he had already lost his senses from shock.

"So," Jaskier began carefully, "I see that you took the whole 'covered in it' thing quite literally." 

Geralt's mouth worked open and shut. He spent about as much time having conversations during sex as he did kissing, which was to say, not much at all. 

"If you don't want it, tell me to stop," he said simply. That was the way it had worked at Kaer Morhen. There, ignoring someone's _no_ meant flirting with death. 

Jaskier squirmed a little, and his cock, which had softened a bit, grazed against the mess beneath him. He stilled, then experimentally thrust his hips downward a few more times. When his cock rapidly began to fill up again, the relief that swept through Geralt in the moment was so complete that he felt as shaken as if he'd already reached his own satisfaction. 

"Keep going?" Geralt asked, and Jaskier nodded frantically. Geralt gave a soft chuckle under his breath, then stretched his hand out to where the blood still dripped steadily from the creature's gaping ribcage. When a small amount of it had pooled in the palm of his hand, he poured it into the small of Jaskier's back. 

Geralt needed two hands for what he wanted to do next. He abandoned Jaskier briefly to reach for his dagger, and with a few deft movements, sliced one of the tendons from the creature's foreleg and tore it in two. The first he used to bind Jaskier's wrists, and after a moment's consideration, tied the second neatly around the base of Jaskier's cock, which was now leaking endlessly, purpled with blood. Both hands now freed, he proceeded to make a mess of Jaskier, painting his back, his thighs, his inviting little arsehole. Geralt eased one, then two fingers inside, stretching him wide open until he was teetering on the edge of true pain, but no further. Geralt felt himself sliding into a pleasant, full-body high that made his head swim and his eyes go unfocused. The tiny yellow flowers bobbing in the breeze and green grass of the clearing took on an otherworldly glow.

Jaskier squeaked as Geralt slid his tongue down inside him, filling his mouth with the sweet taste of blood chased by something darker and deeper. "Geralt, I know witchers live for centuries but can we please get to the part where you fuck me?" 

"You'll come when I tell you to," Geralt said simply, and lined his cock up against Jaskier's hole, letting it catch on the rim once, twice, before sliding home.

"Jaskier," he groaned, overwhelmed at the tight heat that threatened to send him hurtling over the edge too soon. At first, he just indulged in the simple joy of their bodies sliding against one another, until the drive to move could no longer be ignored. Jaskier struggled not to collapse under Geralt's massive bulk, but Geralt just fucked into him relentlessly until his knees gave out. Geralt gave a pleased grunt as he sank even deeper into Jaskier's body. Wet sucking noises filled the air as Jaskier was pushed further into the mess with every thrust. 

Geralt smiled grimly at the picture before him. Jaskier was disgusting now, with blood on his face and guts in his hair, all pretense of civility long gone. He had been reduced to a core of blood, sweat and need that was as crude and elemental as Geralt was. No inn would host him, no king would seek the gift of song from this beautiful creature that Geralt had defiled with the blood of monsters.

Geralt could feel his balls grow heavier, and he drove even harder into Jaskier until the only words that came from his lips were an endless litany of "please, please, please", that rose to an ever more desperate pitch. At the last possible moment, he yanked Jaskier up by the hips and released his cock from its binding. Jaskier's body jerked, and his climax ran through him with breathtaking strength - long, violent pulses that sent thick white ropes of come to join the mess already on the ground. Geralt himself was not long behind him, unloading into Jaskier's body with a force that punched the very breath from his lungs. 

Geralt barely had the energy to remain upright, but he still managed to slide out of Jaskier slowly, pulling him over to a more or less dry patch of ground. A flash of his knife blade and Jaskier's hands were free once again.

Jaskier rolled onto his back, gasping for air. He was a mess from his ears to his ankles, covered in green blood and dark brown earth. His cheeks were ruddy from exertion. He was stunning. 

"Now _that_ ," he declared, "is going into a song. And nothing you say will stop me, Witcher, so don't bother trying." 

Geralt dropped down beside him, still slightly dizzy with the strength of his climax.He took hold of Jaskier's wrists, and rubbed at them until the red marks in his skin began to fade. Something that was perilously close to a smile crossed his face. If the way Jaskier's gaze went heated all over again was any indication, Geralt had given himself away entirely. Geralt ducked his head and licked a stray streak of forktail blood from the side of Jaskier's face before claiming his mouth, which, somehow, still tasted sweet. 

"We have got to do this again," Jaskier said, as he used the new freedom of his hands to explore the terrain of Geralt's body. He wound his fingers into Geralt's hair and peppered his jawline with kisses. It was not wholly unlike being licked by a new puppy. "In fact, every day would be nice. " 

Geralt traced idle lines up and down Jaskier's stomach. Now that he had claimed Jaskier properly, marked him with his seed and his sweat, he didn't want to stop touching him. 

"Jaskier," he said, "you do realize that we have to find somewhere to bathe now, don't you?"

"You're joking," Jaskier replied, looking somewhat panicked. He was probably trying to figure out how many bottles of scented oil would constitute a bath. "Your plans have plans - you didn't sniff out a stream somewhere?"

He had, but - watching Jaskier's face flush angrily never got old. "I was distracted," Geralt said, sucking at the skin behind Jaskier's ear. "Besides, there are other ways of getting clean." 

Jaskier huffed, indignant. "Well, then - you'd better get started."


End file.
